


The Studious One

by emmteeme



Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: Consensual Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmteeme/pseuds/emmteeme
Summary: A music student gets a surprise from her professor, none other than Our David Gilmour
Relationships: David Gilmour/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	The Studious One

You are asked by Dr. Gilmour (for that’s how we must address our dear professor) to visit him during his office hours of 2-4 this Thursday afternoon. You’re worried about the meeting. What on earth is so important that it merits a visit? You felt your last test had gone exceedingly well. Dr. Gilmour was a visiting professor, and you were lucky to have a spot in his lectures on the heels of _The Wall_ tour. Every music geek, rock fan, and wide-eyed girl wanted to be in his course on Combined Instrumental and Vocal Performance. At least your audition was solid enough to gain entrance. 

It was still nagging at you as you walked across the campus. _What is this all about?_ The note you received at the bottom of the assessment was clear for the when and where: **_See me at office hours on Thursday_ ** . But why? You just breathe a deep sigh and instinctively groom your hair lightly with your hand. _He can’t know my feelings for him_ you think to yourself. 

As you knock on the door, it swings slowly open. Dr. Gilmour greets you and invites you inside. He follows you in. As the door swings almost closed, you turn and see a figure behind your beloved professor. You gasp. _Impossible!_ you think as you blink slowly. Because before you is the object of your desire… times two!

The two exchange glances and then lock their stare upon you, the same pair of blue eyes on each. It startles you slightly and you jump a little. It’s still sinking in that before you is your music professor, just as lovely as you see him three days a week. And to his right, it’s the spitting image of the same man some 11 years earlier - looking as if he just flew in from San Tropez. 

You look down and draw in a deep breath. As you start to tilt your head up again, there’s young David, who tucks his hair behind his ear and raises his brow in a way to communicate what you were deeply desiring he would indicate. He gently grazes your chin with his roughened fingers and completes the elevating of your face to his lips. They are warm and supple as he presses them gently to yours. “That’s a good girl,” he says after. You’re speechless. _What is happening?_

“Now look here,” starts Dr. David, “the agreement was to shaaaare,” as he pushes his younger self aside. “Young lady,” he says as he grasps you firmly about your waist, “your performance this semester has greatly improved. But I suspect there is ample room for further development of your skills.”

While your heart is beating at an allegro pace, to your surprise David the Younger places a 1969 Martin D35 guitar in your grasp and dares you, “show us what you’ve got.”

“This is _the_ guitar - from the auction!” you burst. You close your eyes and lean in and inhale to drink the aroma of all the creativity that flowed from this instrument. It’s a mixture of musk and old books. “I actually bought it through an agent” Dr. David confessed, “How could I let this beauty fall into another’s possession? But the money went to a good cause.” As you start to caress the guitar’s neck, and trace out C, D, Am, G, the Davids each grow a slow smile on their countenances. “You don’t have to wish we were here,” the doctor says in a low voice as he approaches you, “as you can clearly see we... err, _I_ am before you now.”

“You said that we had only a short time to play,” David the Younger reminded the professor, “we’ve got a lot to attend to. You said you were keen to blow this bird’s mind.”

“But, how did you know?” you shyly ask. You have dreamed of your professor’s touch, the silk of his voice wafting over you. But you never considered yourself a great beauty or even a mediocre talent. “Well,” Dr. David said with a drawn out L, his tongue poking out from his teeth as he continues, “When you perform, I find it moving. Musically, you communicate with passion and I felt it. I _did_ notice your interest in my *cough* work, as it were. And perhaps I saw your glance linger on me a bit longer than would normally be considered prudent.” He glanced up to the ceiling, turning his head slightly. “But I couldn’t figure out if it was me you were thinking of, or my younger self since when you fell asleep in my lecture last month, I considered your YouTube history after the other students left. What a surprise to see that you watched _Pompeii Echoes_ 85 times that month.” _Fuck! That new allergy medication had knocked you out._

A flush rushes over your entire body. Allegro has progressed to vivace, your pulse throbbing in your ears and your heart is aching in your chest. It seems you have a choice to make. Or do you have to choose?

Young David embraces you and kisses you passionately. As his hands slowly knead your back you quietly moan. His plump lips explore your neck as you throw your head back as an invitation. Your chest rises and falls as your fast breath draws in and out of your aching lungs. This is something you have dreamed about for years. Is it even happening?. 

“Oof!” You exclaim as a pair of roughened hands find their way up the outside of your thighs. You are forever grateful you chose to wear a dress today. The man in front of you has unbuttoned that dress, his pouty lips now dancing on the crescents of your breasts that are barely contained by the lacy harness of your bra. The man behind you has slowly lifted your dress, the pace is like an inquiry, giving you every opportunity to decline the advance, but you simply arch your back and nestle your bottom against the professor. Consent is given. It’s silent, but they both know you are willing. 

Young David stops a moment and walks across the room. The door that was slightly cocked open is now shut firmly, and the strike of the deadbolt clacks. He turns around and sees you and Dr. David, with your backside still pressed against his jeans. A wry smile crawls up the side of young David’s face as he saunters back to you. On the way, his attention is briefly taken away and he asks, “Hey you, how do you get some music playing in here?” The professor grunts a little as he reluctantly pulls his body away and consults with his younger self regarding song selection. They both march slowly back to you as “The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys” piped out of the studio monitors on the professor’s desk. It’s a long song, and it’s on repeat. 

Young David draws the thin, white embroidered kurta he was wearing over his head and lets it casually drop on the floor as he makes his way to you. He raises his hand to the side of your face and gently strokes down your cheek with the back of his hand. He continues down your body and grasps both of your hands, guiding them down to the zipper of his pants. It’s only now that you notice he’s wearing the same pants as he did in Pompeii. His hot breath cascades past your ear, down your neck to your cleavage. His hands envelop your breasts as you deftly unzip his trousers. 

His hands venture up to your shoulders and push down gently, suggesting not so subtly that you may want to change your altitude. Your hands trace around his shoulders and triceps and around to his biceps. God his arms are just as divine as you imagined they would be. Perfectly chiseled, warm, tight. As you continue down, you enjoy his pecs, and lean in to kiss his neck, his beautiful neck. You might stay there an hour if his erection wasn’t enticing you even lower. 

You pause briefly to kiss his chest and spin your tongue around his nipples. Inhaling his scent is driving you mad. You must drain him dry, so you drop to your knees and unleash everything you know. Young David moans as your lips wrap around his hard cock. You lightly flick your tongue, pausing on the dimple gathered on the bottom side of the head. You lightly suck at the tip as you stroke him with one hand and cup his balls with the other. Every gentle squeeze from either hand is answered with an approving sound from above. He moves to the sofa and motions to you. 

As you follow, you finish unbuttoning your dress and step out of it, casting off anything resembling inhibition. Now on all fours and bobbing your head in his lap, the professor approaches from behind and wraps his hands above your waist at your rib cage. He can’t wait any longer. He knows how much you’ve been enjoying his younger self, and he somehow has a new memory in his mind of this day (it’s odd how time travel works). He knows how wet you must be and he’s aching to thrust inside you, taking you as his own, with the sweet memory that just happened as encouragement. 

Young David grabs your hair with both hands, holding your head steady while he fucks your mouth. He knows his time in this time is short and as much as he wants to fuck you, his need to orgasm now is taking over and it’s not about desire anymore. It’s pure young David lust. You’re not really surprised by his cum, it’s hot and copious and drains down the back of your throat. He keeps thrusting, throbbing and holding your hair until he is empty, breathless, and all over limp. 

While the younger was finishing the elder is just starting. Gentle and sweet, kind and slow, your pussy wet and swollen greets his cock willingly. A long, steady push and he’s fully enrobed by your flesh, and he’s pressing as deep as can be and he reaches your cervix. You cough in response. David groans and your vaginal muscles clamp down and you cough again. He makes a sound that you know means he’s pleased. 

It’s been an hour since you met the two Davids. The professor turns your attention to young David, who starts to shimmer a bit. The time has come for him to return from where he came. Young David knows this too and bends over and kisses you gently on the ear, whispering “I hope we do meet again.” And with that he dissipates, all his sparkle transferring to the professor. 

A renewed vigor emanates from David. Like he feels all of a sudden young again. After several deeply satisfying minutes of him taking you from behind, he turns you over and motions to the couch. “It would please me greatly if you were to lay on your back.” Of course you comply. 

It’s warm. You’re warm. He’s warm. You both catch your breath. He offers you a sip of water and you take it. David slams the rest of the glass down and sings to you a little. Your heart races at the tone of his voice. It resonates down your spine, and your lover (for he is now your lover) sees your response. It pleases him. 

After this brief respite he sets about pleasing you. Those lips are not just for singing and speaking French. His hands slip on either side of your labia, and gently part to reveal the gem he’s looking for. He knows how to please a woman, and wastes no time kissing, licking, gently sucking. Your clitoris is now engorged, and you’re lost in bliss, flooding the couch with your approval. He keeps at it, taking you close, but not completely to the edge. Your vocalizations are letting him know that it’s all in his control. David will make you cum when he wants to. 

But first he must take your wet pussy. David pulls your legs over his shoulders and swiftly enters you. It’s what you wanted him to do. It’s what he wanted to do. It turns almost animal, the pounding, the grunting, the pounding, the grunting. When the professor feels too close to release he returns to the task of your ultimate pleasure. 

With his face buried between your legs you know it won’t be long before you are lost in total bliss. You don’t want it to stop but then you want to unleash your passion. It’s too late, his skills and determination have won. You are his. Your clit throbs and and your vagina flutters. He won’t stop until you grab his hair and pull him off of you. David immediately presents a harder than ever cock and starts loving you again. He tells you how much he loves your taste, how tight you are and that he’s been wanting you for months. 

He quickly turns you over again and right out plows in you so hard and deep that you welp. You like it. You want more and encourage it. He grabs tight to your waist and forces himself in you deeper and harder. You glance over your shoulder, you want to see his face when he climaxes. As David’s eyes meet yours it’s more than he can take and he unleashes inside you. He keeps thrusting in and out as he moans. He said something in French that you don’t understand and he screams in pleasure. He falls to the sofa. 

After a few minutes “I was worried you wouldn’t have me,” the professor confides in you. “I no longer have my long locks, and perhaps I’ve enjoyed a few more macaroons than I should have,” referring to his softly rounded midriff. He sighs. A wistful, distant sound, perhaps recalling the days of Pompeii, opportunities taken and lost. His eyes are almost teary. 

“That’s why I asked him here. Err, me that is.” Dr. David explained that a colleague at the university told him of an invention, something like a time machine, but more like a time borrower. “Professor Woods has used his novel invention to confer with himself 25 years from now. Future Dr. Woods passed on valuable knowledge on the use of the ‘Focuser’ and informed me that you only get about 10 hours to meet yourself from another time. The first time you use the Focuser you’re to limit the experience to one hour as a test.I was lusting after you so, and I was afraid you might not take me as I am.”

As you lay on your back, your head resting in his lap and snuggling on his stomach, you look up in wonderment. How could this man ever doubt? You both drift to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. “Our David Gilmour” is a character based on David Gilmour but ODG exists in a place called “imagination” and he isn’t married, doesn’t have children, but he is a musician in the band Pink Floyd. The situations presented are for entertainment purposes only, and could never happen in real life.


End file.
